


Carburetors and a Consort

by sphekso



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Fluff, Hannibal is a Cannibal, It's Just Cute OK?, M/M, Will is Innocent, Younger Will, romantic beginnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphekso/pseuds/sphekso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a simple young mechanic with a simple young life-- until Hannibal Lecter arrives with a busted car and a mouthful of promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carburetors and a Consort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peppermintquartz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/gifts).



> Written from a prompt by peppermintquartz. Hopefully it's acceptable. Enjoy, folks!

The boy slid out from under Hannibal’s car. It wasn’t quite right to call him a _boy_ , though, but he wasn’t a man yet, either. He was a _young man_ , the kind that Hannibal found himself salivating over more than he would like to admit. There was something about those late-teens early-twenties boys: their bright eyes, their self-assuredness. They thought the world was their oyster, and Hannibal so often found himself wanting to be that oyster.

“It’s pretty damaged,” the boy told him. _Will_ told him. That’s right, Will was his name, though it didn’t matter much to a man of Hannibal’s prestige. Will was only a mechanic, after all, and Hannibal was a renowned psychiatrist—and surgeon, to boot. Will looked up at him from his little scooter, eyelashes fluttering. “It won’t be cheap.”

“Cost isn’t an issue,” Hannibal said. He took a step away from Will and his oil-smeared face. As dirty as he was, Hannibal had to admit it added a certain _je ne sais quoi_ to his appearance. It wouldn’t have on any other man—or any other boy, for that matter—but the smudges on Will’s cheeks made him feel something he couldn’t describe. It wasn’t quite lust. It was… something else.

“Well, we can get started as soon as you need it,” Will said. He pushed himself up to a standing position, and Hannibal noted for the first time how his hair was just _slightly_ too long and hung in little curls against his forehead. On anyone else his age it might’ve made him look innocent, but on Will it only added to his allure. “Do you have anywhere to go, sir?” Will asked.

Hannibal frowned. It was a true frown, not a mild frown like writers throw around so often. It led to his eyes and back again. “It’ll take that long?” he asked.

Will nodded. “Yeah,” he said, not seeming to grasp the great inconvenience he was placing on Hannibal. “It must’ve been _some_ rock you hit. It sliced through almost everything. We’ll have to order parts, and even then…” He shrugged and scratched at the stubble on his chin. “It just _tore_ through it. How did you even drive it here?”

“With quite a bit of noise,” Hannibal replied. “And very slowly.”

“It must’ve been.” Will scratched his chin again. The boy clearly wasn’t used to wearing stubble yet. “There aren’t any hotels for miles. Or motels, even. Do you know anyone in town?” He paused, waiting for Hannibal to speak up, but he said nothing. “I guess not. Well…”

Hannibal’s tongue darted across his lips. “You guessed right, but… _well_ what?”

“If you don’t have a place to go, you could stay with me.” He waited a beat. “I charge, though. It’s only fair.”

“Only fair,” Hannibal echoed. “How long will the repairs be?”

“We can have the parts in in a day,” Will replied. “After that, maybe a day to replace them? Who can say, really? I’m not the boss.”

“Who is?” Hannibal asked.

Will shrugged hard. “A guy named Crawford. He doesn’t show himself much. I’m pretty much the face of this business.”

“Crawford,” Hannibal repeated. “I don’t know any Crawfords.”

“How could you, being out here like this?” Will asked. “And why _are_ you out here, sir? We’re in the ass end of nowhere.”

“Maybe I just wanted to go for a drive,” Hannibal said with a tight smile he hoped didn’t look too grim. The truth was, he’d tried to pay a visit to one of the many members of his human Rolodex. Fortunately for the man he was looking for, and unfortunately for Hannibal, that man had moved in the time since he’d given him his business card. A nice Spanish-speaking family occupied his house now. The matriarch had offered him tamales. He couldn’t refuse, of course, tastes be damned, and they’d been predictably bland and frankly offensive to his palate. He’d given them his thanks and gone on his way. That was, until he’d hit that damnable rock.

“A drive,” Will said. “Right. Well, sir, you’re looking at _at least_ a thousand dollars in damages here.”

“A pittance,” Hannibal muttered.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Well,” Will said, “you have to stay somewhere. Unless you plan on sleeping on the couch here.”

Hannibal glanced over to the couch shoved up against the far wall and wrinkled his brow. It was filthy, and the springs might as well have been sticking out of the cushions. “Certainly not,” he said. “Your home sounds like a better option.” It _was_ the better option objectively, but there was a subjective longing to his thoughts, too. He didn’t think staying with this young man would be such a bad idea, all told

Will laughed. It was a strong laugh, not vulgarly throaty, but an _honest_ laugh from deep in his chest. “My home? I’m sorry to say I live above a garage, sir. But my couch,” he pointed at the one on the wall, “is quite a bit more comfortable than that one. Unless you’d rather take the bed, but that’ll be extra.”

The bed? That _did_ sound preferable. But, Hannibal thought with more than a hint of letch, it would be even more preferable if the bed would be _shared_. “I’ll take the bed, then,” he said. “And I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Hospitality?” Will scoffed. “You’re paying me. It’s not a big deal.” He stared down at his foot and shuffled it against the concrete floor.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” Hannibal said, studying Will’s cheap sneakers on the ground. “Believe me.”

“Your pleasure? You’re awfully formal, sir,” Will said. He picked at his chin again. Hannibal thought he must have done that a hundred times a day.

“I only mean I’m delighted that you would open your home… or _garage_ … to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Will asked. “You’re paying.”

“I’m a stranger,” Hannibal said. “Besides, you haven’t told me your price, but I’ve already accepted. Shouldn’t that tell you something?” He was going out on a limb now. Maybe the mechanic would be smart enough to catch his intentions, or maybe he was too naïve to grasp them from this seemingly average dialogue. It didn’t matter in the end. Hannibal would still be _so close_ to him… close enough to touch. If he wanted it, of course. Only if he wanted it. And in Hannibal’s experience, almost everyone wanted it. He was _Just. That. Good._

“Just give me twenty bucks a night, I don’t care,” Will said. “Cheap, right? Good, right?”

“Cheap. Very good,” Hannibal said, and wet his lips again. It was involuntary, but he hoped Will didn’t notice it. He didn’t seem to, regardless.

“You’ll have to wait ‘til I’m off work,” Will said. “Then we can go over.” He looked over at Hannibal with wide eyes. Wide, innocent, nearly watery eyes. Hannibal almost died looking into them. “You don’t mind waiting, do you?” Will asked.

“Of course not,” Hannibal muttered, trying to compose himself. He couldn’t believe that the young smudged man had flustered him so much, but it was what it was. He’d wait in his chair until the angel in oil finished his ministrations on the various cars in the shop, of which there weren’t very many. Hannibal figured that wasn’t surprising, being out in the middle of nowhere as they were. It was no wonder that Will only had a garage room to offer. There couldn’t be many paying customers, and much fewer landlords.

“So what’s your story?” Will asked, grabbing a wrench from a nearby bucket.

“My story?”

“Where do you come from? I’m always curious about outsiders.” He slid his little bench over to the car next to Hannibal’s and laid down on it. “We don’t get many out here.” He pushed himself under the car and set to work.

“I’m from Baltimore,” Hannibal said, finding himself to be more honest than he intended to be.

“And what do you do in Baltimore?” Will asked, ratcheting noises coming from beneath the car.

“You could say that I’m a doctor,” Hannibal replied. He uncrossed and recrossed his legs in the opposite direction.

“What kind of doctor?”

“Does it matter?” Hannibal asked, and immediately cursed himself for being so brash.

There was another ratcheting sound from beneath the car, an old classic pickup from the days before emission standards and aesthetic value. “It does to me,” Will said. “Can’t blame me for being curious.”

Hannibal gazed at Will’s calves and sneakers sticking out from under the truck. “I’m a psychiatrist,” he said.

“A psychiatrist? You strike me as more of a surgeon,” Will said, voice muffled under the vehicle.

“Why do you think that?” Hannibal asked.

“Your hands,” Will said, accompanied by more tinkering. “They’re delicate. Like a piano player.”

“Do you play the piano, Will?” Hannibal asked.

Will laughed, again, not a throaty laugh, but a _core_ laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “The most music I make is with transmissions and carburetors.”

“That’s a kind of music, isn’t it?” Hannibal offered. “The clinking… it forms a rhythm. I wouldn’t deign to call it an instrument, but it’s a kind of music.”

There was silence from under the truck for quite a while. Hannibal became uncomfortable waiting. Then: “I guess you might be right.” Will shuffled out on his little trolley to look Hannibal in the eye. “You hear a lot, don’t you? You _see_ a lot.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal said. He didn’t say any more. He didn’t want to show his hand.

“What do you see in _me_?” Will asked.

Hannibal squinted at him. He wasn’t used to this kind of questioning, but from this young man… it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “I think you’re overconfident,” he said honestly.

“Overconfident?” Will countered. “What else?”

“I think…” And then Hannibal decided to go for broke. “I think you’re more attractive than you give yourself credit for. I think that’s wasted in this town.”

“Attractive—“ Will began, but Hannibal cut him off.

“How many suitors have you had? Hmm? Not many, I expect, and none to your standards. You deserve a city life.”

Will stayed silent for a long time after that. Hannibal worried that he’d overplayed his hand, until Will said: “And what kind of city life would I have?”

“Well,” Hannibal began, “I could show you. You’d let me show you, wouldn’t you? You feel safe with me?”

Will nodded slightly. “I do. I’m not sure why, but I do. Tell me more.”

“There’s the symphony,” Hannibal said. “And the opera. And let’s not forget the ballet. There are so many things for a _man_ of your caliber to see. So many things that aren’t the underside of a pickup truck.”

“…Of my caliber?”

“I know quality when I see it,” Hannibal said simply. “It’s up to you to grasp opportunity or let it pass by. I’ll take you up on your bed regardless.”

Will swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did. “You can have my bed,” he said. “And I’ll think about the rest of it.”

“Do you have family here?” Hannibal asked. “Is that a problem?”

Will rose up to a sitting position and shook his head. “I don’t have anyone.”

Hannibal smiled, or whatever slight curl of his lips could pass as a smile for him. “Then you have no attachments.”

“Why me?” Will asked.

“Why not?” Hannibal replied. “Are you done with your tinkering? I believe you have a garage to show me.”

Will nodded slowly. “I guess I do.”

“Let’s hurry along, then,” Hannibal said. “We don’t have all the time in the world, do we?”

Will gulped again, then favored Hannibal with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind dogs.”

Hannibal bristled. He didn’t like pets. They made him feel too abnormally human. “How many do you have?” he asked.

“Oh, zero,” Will said. “But you’ll see. My room is covered with them… Pictures, figures, shit, I don’t know. I wish I could have one, but I’m just in a garage, you know? I can’t afford anything else.”

“Maybe we can fix that,” Hannibal said, keeping his voice as cool and sly as he possibly could. “I could find you a rural place…”

“I… I’d love that,” Will said. And of course he _would_ say that. He was an innocent boy… No, he was an innocent _young man_. The lines blurred so often where Hannibal was concerned. But this young man, this oil-smudged angel, wanted a place for a dog to run.

And, studying his locks and eyes, who was Hannibal to deny him?


End file.
